Just Missed The Train
by x Be My Muse
Summary: Sequel to Broken Angel. Amy Stokes' real father comes back for her after a horrible tragedy tears her world apart. GC NS Warning: Character Death
1. Just Missed The Train

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters from CSI or the song "Just Missed The Train" by Kelly Clarkson. I do, however, own Amy Stokes and her friends that are mentioned in this chapter.  
  
Notes: This is the sequel to my other story, Broken Angel. You might need to read that to be able to fully understand some of the things that happen in later chapters. This story takes place about 16 years in the future.  
  
"So go on and sleep, darling Why don't you pretend we were just a dream? It's cool, baby It doesn't matter anyway"  
  
I sat in the backseat of my dad's car, my forehead pressed against the window, absorbing the cold feeling of the glass. I smiled to myself as I listened to my mother's smooth alto voice singing along with my Kelly Clarkson CD. Leaning forward slightly, I watched her small hand clasped tightly in my daddy's larger one.  
  
"Well, I'm so sorry Got to the station a little too late Such a shame Just missed the train"  
  
As we pulled up to Brandon's house, I saw my mother anxiously looking around at the rows of cars parked around the neighborhood. "Don't worry, mom," I said, rolling my eyes. "I won't drink, or do drugs, or have sex."  
  
Out of the side of my eye, I could see my dad smile. "It's not funny, Nick," Mom snapped, but I saw a faint smile forming on the corners of her mouth. "I'm sure you know what goes on at these parties. I just don't want anything happening to my baby."  
  
I rolled my eyes again, but, before I could say anything, Dad came to the rescue. "Honey, she's not a baby anymore. She's a young adult, and she deserves out trust." He put his arm around Mom and winked at me. "I mean, Sara, has Amy ever done anything to lose our trust in her?"  
  
Mom's small smile widened, revealing the adorable gap in teeth, the gap that Daddy has always loved so much. Dad once jokingly said that her gap was the reason that he fell in love with her in the first place.  
  
"I guess you're right, Nicky," she said, giving in. "Just remember to be home by 11:30," she reminded me, the way she did after week.  
  
"Ok," I agreed, getting out of the car.  
  
"I love you," Mom called out. "I love you too," I called back.  
  
As I walked toward the front door, I could hear my father back in the car. "Sara, can we turn this God-awful music off now?"  
  
"Fine," Mom gave in. "As long as you don't put on any --." An old Garth Brooks song filled the car. "Country music."  
  
"Amy," I heard someone call. I spun around to find my best friend Becca running up the driveway behind me.  
  
"Becs," I called out. The two of us linked arms, giggling as we skipped up the front walk towards the door.  
  
"Amy! Becca!" Justin and Brandon called to us as we stepped inside. The four of us headed into the den and flopped down on the couch.  
  
"Want something to drink?" Justin asked me, shouting to be heard above the rock music that was blasting in the room. He held out a beer bottle for me.  
  
I thought back to the warning my mother had given me in the car. "No, thanks," I said, reaching for a can of coke. "I'll just have some soda."  
  
"It's so loud in here," Justin shouted to me. "Why don't we go somewhere a little quieter?"  
  
I giggled and smiled flirtatiously. "Justin, if you want to make out, you can just ask me."  
  
"Ok," he said, flirting back. "Do you wanna make out?"  
  
"I'd love to," I whispered, leaning in and kissing him. I let myself melt into him, loving the feel of his lips on mine, of our bodies pressed together.  
  
Finally, I broke away from him, gasping for air. I glanced down at the watch on my wrist. "Shit," I cursed. "It's already 11:20. I'm gonna be late."  
  
"Not if I can help it," Justin said, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me out to his car. He placed me carefully in the front passenger seat. Settling himself in the driver's seat, he adjusted the mirrors, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.  
  
"Fasten your seat belt," he said, in a deep, dramatic voice. "It's gonna be a bumpy ride." He sped out of the driveway, narrowly missing a neighbor's mailbox.  
  
"Justin," I squealed, "slow down." "What? You want me to go faster?" He pressed down on the accelerator and sped off down the road.  
  
In less then five minutes, we were pulling up into my neighborhood, normally a twenty minute drive from Brandon's house.  
  
Flashing blue and red lights brought Justin's speed down to less then twenty miles an house. "I wonder why the police are here," Justin said quietly.  
  
As we moved closer to my house, fear gripped my heart. "Justin, the police are at my house." He slowed to a stop in front of my driveway.  
  
I recognized Gil and Catherine Grissom's SUV parked in the driveway, between the two police cars. "Do you want me to come in?" Justin asked, putting his hand on mine.  
  
"No," I said, swallowing past the lump of fear that had built up in my throat. "I'm sure everything's fine." I stepped out of the car, waving to Justin as he pulled out and drove back down the street.  
  
I took a deep breath, forcing my legs to make the journey up the driveway; a journey that, while only a few seconds long, seemed like eternity now.  
  
I pushed my house key into the lock. Turning the doorknob, I stepped inside to find Gil, Catherine, and two police officers, all seated around the coffee table in the center of the living room.  
  
"Aunt Catherine? Uncle Gil? What's going on?" Catherine looked up, her bloodshot, red rimmed eyes only adding to the anxiety I was feeling.  
  
"Amy," Catherine choked out, motioning for me to join her on the couch. Gil moved over, inviting me to sit between them.  
  
"Amy," Gil began, "there was an accident." An accident. Those two dreaded words. Oh, God, no. "Your parents.they.well." He looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.  
  
"They were hit, head on." one of the policemen said, taking over. "I'm sorry. They didn't make it."  
  
They didn't make it. That one sentence, those four final, fateful words, hit me in the stomach like a lead fist. "They didn't make it?" A numbness was overcoming my body. I was getting lightheaded.  
  
I stood up and began backing away from them all. "No." I whispered, shakily. "They can't be dead. They can't be!" I was suddenly shaking, and my legs felt like jello.  
  
"Amy!" I heard Catherine call as I fell to the floor. 


	2. Something In Black

I awoke on the couch in the living room. I groaned and stretched, my muscles aching. "You're awake," Catherine said, from the other side of the couch. Her eyes were bloodshot, a mix of crying and lack of sleep.  
  
From the kitchen, I heard the mechanical hum of the coffee machine. If it wasn't for Catherine's presence in the room, I might have thought that the night before had just been one big nightmare.  
  
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried hard to imagine that things were back to normal. I could almost hear my parents rushing around the kitchen with their cups of coffee, getting ready for work. "Morning, Amy," Gil said, coming into the room and interrupting my fantasy. He leaned over and kissed my forehead.  
  
He looked over at his wife, and the two had a wordless exchange. "Umm...the funeral's tomorrow," Gil said, turning away from me and studying the pictures over the mantelpiece. I saw the pain in his face, the unshed tears. I knew he had always loved my mother, even before my father ever met her.  
  
Catherine sniffled and wiped fresh tears from her eyes. My gaze moved back and forth between the two of them. "Excuse me," Catherine said, getting up and hurrying down the hall to the bathroom. I heard the slam of the bathroom door.  
  
At the sound of the slamming door, Gil turned around to face me. "She's really broken up about this," he explained. Not that her behavior really needed any explaining at all. I felt like doing the exact same thing. But I couldn't. He looked around, his eyes drooping with exhaustion. "Why don't you go upstairs and pack some clothes to bring to our house for a few days," he suggested. I knew that now I would be moving in with them. No one needed to tell me. It was expected. "And try and find something to wear tomorrow." He let his voice trail off, unable to say the dreaded word that would bring the horrible truth crashing down on all of us.  
  
I nodded, still unable to speak. But when I reached the doorway, I turned around to face him. "I'm sorry," I said softly. Confusion filled his face. "I know you really loved my mother." I turned and left then. I couldn't bring myself to watch his face, but I could hear his stifled sobs.  
  
I dug through my dresser, pulling out random pairs of pants, shorts, and shirts to pack for Gil and Catherine's house. When I finished with that, I ransacked my closet for anything to wear to the funeral. I didn't have a single thing though. I had only been to one funeral in my life, my Grandmother's, and I had only been 11 then.  
  
I stood up and hurried down the hallway towards my parents' bedroom, pausing for a moment in the open doorway. Ignoring the chills that were creeping up my spine, I charged into the bedroom and towards the closet. I flicked through the clothes until I found the dress that my mother wore to her mother's funeral. Pulling it out, I held it up to my body and smiled. Perfect.  
  
The scent up my mother's perfume floated up to me from the dress. Pressing it up to my face, I inhaled the scent deeply. I closed my eyes as I started to sob.  
  
Minutes later, I felt a pair of arms wrap around my body and rock me gently as I cried. "It's OK, sweetie," a familiar voice whispered in my ear. Pulling back, I looked up into the familiar blue eyes of Lindsey Willows, Catherine's twenty-six year old daughter.  
  
I leaned into her again as a new wave of sobs racked my body. She didn't have to say anything, but I knew that she could relate to how I was feeling. Granted, she was a lot younger when her father died, and she still had her mother, but she had still lost a parent. She was the only person who knew how I felt.  
  
"Come on," she said, helping me to my feet. "Let's go home."  
  
The moment we arrived at her house, I curled up under the covers of the guest room and drifted off to a fitful sleep.  
  
Nightmares plagued my sleep all night, causing me to wake up every few hours. At 2:00, I awoke from a particularly bad one and decided to get up for a few minutes to calm myself down.  
  
I headed into the living room and dug out an old photo album from before I was born. This was something I always did at my house when I couldn't sleep. I flipped through the pictures, most of them being of Catherine, Gil, Mom, Daddy, or Warrick.  
  
I stopped on one page that had a picture of Daddy and Mom together, just a few months before they got married. I looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to find similarities between myself and them. I could easy see many similarities between myself and Mom. We had the same nose and mouth, minus her gap. We had the same body type and we were both fairly tall. I concentrated on looking for similarities between myself and Daddy. I couldn't find any.  
  
Finally, I gave up looking and just flipped to the next page. Pausing, I stared at the picture of my mother and a man, not my father. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close against his side. Her eyes were filled with love, as was her beautiful gap-toothed grin. I moved the picture closer to the light. His eyes looked vaguely familiar.  
  
A noise from behind me pulled my attention from the picture. I spun around to find Catherine standing in the doorway. "Hey," she whispered. "You couldn't sleep either?" I shook my head, and she made her way over to the couch and sat beside me.  
  
"What are you looking at?" She asked, leaning over my shoulder to get a look at the picture. I watched as the color slowly drained from her face. She frowned slightly, biting her lip as she did so, a clear sign that she was nervous.  
  
"Who is he, Aunt Catherine?" I asked, my eyes still focused on his face.  
  
She sighed and thought a moment before answering. "He was your mom's old boyfriend."  
  
My head snapped up to look at her. My mother had never told me about an old boyfriend. She had always told me that she had never had any real boyfriends before Daddy. "What happened between them?"  
  
She took a deep breath, her hands playing with the edge of her shirt. I noticed that her hands were shaking slightly. "Well, they were going out on and off for a few months. They finally broke up after she found out that he was cheating on her."  
  
"That's awful," I said softly, my gaze now back on the picture. I knew that wasn't the whole story, but I could tell that I wasn't going to get anything else out of Catherine that night. "Well, I guess I'll go back to bed now," I said, placing the photo album on the coffee table, leaving it open.  
  
When I reached the doorway to the hallway, I glanced back to find Catherine staring at the same picture of my mom and that man, her old boyfriend. Tears were falling down her face, but she made no move to wipe them away. Filled with confusion, I turned and headed back to bed.  
  
I woke up around 7:00 to get ready for the funeral. I took a long, hot shower, scrubbing my skin until it bled. I was trying to hard not to cry. I didn't want to admit to myself that it was true, that my parents had died.  
  
I flipped on my mother's black dress, amazed on how well it fit. "You look just like your mom," Gil said from the doorway, a single tear falling from the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry, he said as he quickly wiped it away. And then, pretending that he hadn't let his guard down, he quickly said, "We're ready to go."  
  
The church was almost empty. Mom and Daddy hadn't had any friends outside of work, and I only had three close friends who came. Lindsey sat beside me and held my hand through the whole service, sporadically squeezing my hand to comfort me. Occasionally, she would wipe a stray tear from her eye. I knew that Mom and Dad had been like second parents to her, but she was trying to stay strong for my benefit.  
  
We buried my parents in the cemetery behind the church. The sun was high in the sky, but, for me, the sky was dark and gray. Catherine sobbed loudly and clung to Gil for support. I turned away as the tears cascaded down my face and off my chin. Lindsey's arms were wrapped tightly around me as we headed back to the car, ready to go back to their house. We walked back to the car, both of us crying softly, unaware of the dark figure that was standing by the tree. 


	3. Snippets Of Conversation

I woke up, shivering from the cold. I got up to turn down the air conditioning in the hallway. As I entered the hallway, I heard voice from the kitchen.  
  
I tiptoed down the hallway in that direction, stepping cautiously so as not to draw attention to my presence. I leaned against the wall at the doorway of the kitchen, listening intently to the voices of Catherine and Gil.  
  
"What did they say?" Catherine was asking when I reached the doorway.  
  
"There's evidence that the brakes were tampered with," Gil said, his voice tight with stress.  
  
"Tampered with? You mean, it was deliberate? They were murdered?" My hand shot up to cover my mouth, just barely suppressing a cry. Deliberate? Who would want to murder my parents? I wanted so badly to turn around and run back to my room; to crawl under the covers and leave the world behind.  
  
I forced myself to tune back in to the conversation. "What makes you think it was him?" Gil asked.  
  
I heard Catherine sigh. "I don't know. It just makes sense."  
  
"Cath, he's been out of jail for four years now. He hasn't done a single thing to Sara in any of that time. There's no reason to believe it was him." Who? I wanted to scream at them. Who were they talking about? And why would he do anything to my mom?  
  
"I guess you're right, Gil." Catherine said, exasperation and exhaustion in her voice.  
  
The conversation ended there. Blinking back tears, I hurried back to my room. I curled up under the covers. Sleep seemed miles away. I kept replaying the conversation in my mind. Who could they have been talking about? The questions were still piling up in my mind when sleep finally came.  
  
The next morning when I woke up, the house was unearthly silent. There was no talking, no TV or radio playing. Not even the low hum of the coffee machine was present.  
  
As I entered the kitchen, a note on the table caught my eye. My eyes scanned the note quickly, taking in the message. Gil and Catherine left to take Lindsey back to the airport. They'd be back in about two hours.  
  
I sighed and collapsed on the sofa in the living room, flicking on the TV as I did so. Flipping through the channels, I finally settled on my mother's favorite soap opera. Or what had been her favorite.  
  
Halfway through the show, I heard a floorboard creak in the back of the house. My head shot up from its position on the arm of the sofa. I must have imagined it. I'm way too paranoid.  
  
I heard another creak. There it goes again. Footsteps. Down the hall. And they sound like they're coming closer.  
  
My heart was pounding a mile a minute. I felt lightheaded. Fear was creeping up my spine and making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.  
  
I bit my lip. I couldn't stand the suspense any longer. I stood up and made my way over to the doorway, determined to prove that the footsteps were just in my imagination.  
  
I tiptoed down the hallway towards the kitchen, where the footsteps seemed to be coming from. Just then, a sound behind me caught my attention. But, before I could turn around, a cloth covered hand covered my nose and mouth. The sharp scent of chloroform filled my nose. I tried to pull away, but my strength was dwindling. Using my nails, I clawed at the hand that was holding the cloth. I fought to stay conscious.  
  
My knees grew weak, and I felt myself falling to the floor. Then, I lost consciousness. 


	4. Revelations

Note: So sorry for taking so long to update. I've just been hella busy. Thanks to the few of you who reviewed. It really means a lot to me. Please take the time, after reading this, to review, even if it's just to say that you like the story, or you don't like it, or whatnot. As long as I know that ya'll are actually reading it. Lol. Anyway, enjoy!  
  
The hard, concrete floor was cold under my back. I struggled with the ropes that bound my hands and feet.  
  
Blinking against the harsh, bright light of the room, I quickly looked around. I was trying to find a means of escape, but what I saw instead stilled my heart in my chest and froze my breath in my lungs.  
  
Pictures. Pictures of mom, daddy, and me. Ranging from when I was about four or five to just a few weeks ago. I gasped, my heart now beating wildly, as my eyes flew around the room to the various photographs.  
  
"Oh, you're awake," a voice said from behind me. My lip quavered. I struggled to roll around, to face my captor, but I couldn't move. He chuckled quietly, before stepping in front of me and letting my eyes rest on his face.  
  
I gasped again. "You're that guy. The one from the picture at Catherine's house."  
  
His lips turned up in a half-smile. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. Amy Stokes, I'm Hank Peddigrew."  
  
"How do you know my name? And why did you take me?" The questions flew out my mouth before I could stop them.  
  
He chuckled again. "Well, I have one answer that will work for both questions." He paused, a smile still frozen on his lips. "I know your name, and I took you, because you are my daughter."  
  
My jaw dropped. I sat in silence for a moment. Suddenly, a laugh burst out of my mouth. "Woah..you definitely have the wrong girl," I said, relief flooding through my body. "I know who my dad is, and you're not him. He and my mom were killed in a car accident a few days ago."  
  
"I know they died, Amy, because I was the one who tampered with the brakes and caused them to have the accident." The smile melted from my face. There's no way he could have known about the brakes.  
  
"Why would you do that?" I choked out.  
  
"Because, as I said before, you are my daughter." Impatience was putting an edge in his voice, making it hard and cold.  
  
"No," I choked out, shaking my head.  
  
He nodded his head. Suddenly, his eyes flicked to my shirt, and his grin widened. "That was your mother's shirt. She wore it the night I went to her." The memory put a distant glaze over his eyes.  
  
"Aunt Catherine said that you cheated on my mom," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady and unwavering.  
  
"I did. But your mother was too smart; she figured it out. And then so did Elaine. So, the night Elaine dumped me, I got myself drunk and headed over to your mother's apartment." He paused, a sleazy, lop-sided grin forming. "And that was the night that you were made." He watched my face. I took a few deep breaths and slowly counted to ten.  
  
A tear trickled out the corner of my eye and made its way crookedly down to my chin. I moved my shoulder to rub away the tear, sniffling to myself. I looked down, slow sobs shaking my body.  
  
Raped. My mother was raped. I'm the product of a rape. The thoughts were racing through my brain, bouncing off each other, wreaking havoc on my emotions.  
  
Hank looked down at his watch. "Oh!" He exclaimed. "It's time for your nap." He pulled a syringe out of his pocket. "Goodnight, Amy." He plunged the needle into my arm.  
  
"No," I whispered. I struggled against the ropes, trying to stay awake. "No," I repeated again, as sleep once more overtook me. 


	5. Ashes to Ashes

I blinked my eyes open. I had been dozing on and off for a few days. I relaxed my face and closed my eyes gently, pretending to be asleep. I didn't want Hank to put me asleep again.  
  
My arm was sore in the spot where he had continually jabbed the syringe. My lip quavered and I fought to keep my composure.  
  
I heard the door creak open, and the shallow slap of shoes on concrete was coming closer to me. Hank poked me with the tip of his shoe, gently at first, and then gradually harder. "Please don't put me to sleep again," I begged, crying.  
  
"Oh, don't worry," he assured me. "There'll be no more of that." I knew his words should comfort me, but the strange grin on his face convinced me that he had something much worse in mind. And, knowing what he was capable of, that scared me even more.  
  
"So," I began, taking a deep breath, "what do you have in mind?"  
  
He smiled. "Well, I always thought that getting back at your mother would give me the satisfaction that I've been searching for all of these years. But then I realized that I can't just get back at Sara. I have to get rid of every single reminder of that awful night so long ago." He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye before directing his gaze back at me. "And that's where you come in."  
  
That's when I realized it. Hank was crazy. That glint in his eye, the pleasure he took in my pain, these were the signs of a truly crazy man.  
  
"I'll be right back," he said. When he returned, he was holding a packet of matches and a gallon of gasoline.  
  
"No," I choked out, as I realized what he had planned. He laughed at my protests.  
  
Unscrewing the cap of the gasoline container, Hank began dousing the room in the flammable liquid. The fumes floated around me, pulling at me, choking me. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I swallowed hard to keep from throwing up.  
  
Just then, the familiar sound of police sirens pierced the night. I breathed a sigh of relief. But Hank was unfazed. He paused for a moment, his eyes trained on the sound, before quickening his pace around the room. He was careful to hit every single inch of the room with the gasoline.  
  
Satisfied, he stepped back and screwed the cap back onto the jug. He stepped just outside the door to admire his work. Then, he turned his gaze to me quickly. He winked at me.  
  
He pulled out the package of matched and quickly lit one. He cast one last glance at me before tossing it into the room. The room erupted in smoke and fire. Above the crackling of the fire, I could hear the high pitched screech of Hank's laughter. 


	6. One of Those Cases

I tapped my fingers nervously on the kitchen table, willing my cell phone to ring. I took another gulp from my coffee cup, finishing off my fourth cup of the morning.  
  
As if hearing my silent plea, the shrill ringing of my cell cut through the silence in the room. Although I was expecting the call, I still jumped at the sudden noise. "Willow," I answered quickly.  
  
"Catherine? It's Brass." The familiar voice on the line sounded empty and hollow, revealing no emotions. "We think we know where she is." He rattled off the address of a storage facility where Hank was renting some space.  
  
"I'll meet you there," I said, hanging up.  
  
I rushed into the next room where Grissom was absentmindedly flipping through the channels. "Gil, Brass just called. They think they've found her."  
  
We jumped into the car and I read off the address for him. "It's ok, Cath," Grissom said, covering my hand with his own. "She'll be ok." I closed my eyes and silently prayed, something I hadn't done since before Eddie died.  
  
The shrill of a siren pulled me out of my solitude. Grissom pulled the car over to the side of the road, allowing a bright red fire truck to pass. I gasped and shot a nervous glance at him. "Do you think--?"  
  
"No," he said firmly. "It couldn't be her." Despite his words, I saw his foot press down on the gas pedal. We followed the fire truck down the road. As it made the turn into the storage facility, I felt my chest tighten and my heart begin to race.  
  
The fire blazed in the small storage building. An officer was snapping handcuffs on someone. "Hank," I whispered, instantly recognizing him.  
  
I jumped out of the car before Grissom put it in park, and I raced over to where Brass stood. "Where is she?" I asked, shaking.  
  
"We don't know yet," Brass answered sadly, glancing over his shoulder at the burning building.  
  
"I pushed past him to where Hank was. "Where is she?" I demanded. "Where's Amy?"  
  
He laughed. "She's gone now. I took care of her."  
  
"What do you mean?" I asked, tears streaming down my face. An officer helped Hank into the police car, and closed the door, shutting him off from me.  
  
I turned and ran to one of the many firemen, standing with their hoses trained on the building. "My baby," I cried, "I think she's in there."  
  
"Hold on, ma'am," he said, shouting some words to one of the other fire men. The two men dashed into the building.  
  
I rushed forward to get closer, but an officer firmly held me back. "You can't go past this line, ma'am," he said gently. I was too tired, emotionally and physically, to fight.  
  
I felt a hand move around me, and I let Grissom pull me into his warm embrace. "Oh, Gil," I sobbed. I felt the wetness of his tears on my head.  
  
"It'll be ok, Cath," he said, him voice breaking as he said my name.  
  
Suddenly, from the building emerged one of the fire men, holding Amy in his arms. "Amy," I cried, pulling myself from Grissom's arms and rushing forwards. They placed her onto a waiting stretcher and pulled an oxygen mask over her face.  
  
Time was moving in slow motion. Everything seemed to happen so slowly, when, in truth, the ambulance was speeding away in less than a minute.  
  
I squeezed Amy's hand gently, lowering my head in prayer for the second time that night. My eyes burned from a mixture of crying and lack of sleep. As we pulled into the hospital, I thought of the millions of cases I had worked. Many of them ended in death and despair for the family. I only prayed that this wouldn't be one of those cases. 


	7. Thicker Than Blood

My vision was blurry when I finally came to. Every joint in my body was aching. I could feel oxygen straws breathing air into my nostrils. I struggled against the haziness around me and fought hard to remember where I was.  
  
The last thing I remembered was lying inside a small, concrete room; fire closing in on me from all angles. I was struggling for breath, and through the wall of fire came a man. A strong man with a heavy jacket, a big hat, and tall, knee-high, rubber boots. A fireman. I couldn't remember anything else after that.  
  
"She's back," I heard Catherine say, her voice thick with emotion. "Lindsay, go get the nurse, or a doctor, anyone."  
  
I watched a blurry figure run out of the room. I coughed, the movement causing pain to sear through my body. A tall figure ran back into the room, joining the blurry figure that I had already established as Catherine. I blinked my eyes a few more times. The blurs took shape into people.  
  
Catherine was sitting by the hospital bed, clutching a handkerchief in her hand and dabbing at her eyes every once in awhile. At her side, Grissom sat stoically, holding tightly onto Catherine's hand; being her rock, as usual. Lindsay was leaning against the doorframe, nervously chewing on the inside of her cheek.  
  
"Welcome back, Ms. Sidle," the doctor said, leaning over me and checking my pulse. He was tall, with brown hair and a kind face. He reminded me of my dad. Or.well.Nick. It was still hard to believe that he wasn't my real father.  
  
"How long have I been here?" I asked, my voice hoarse and scratchy, and my throat raw from the effort to talk.  
  
"Almost four days," he answered.  
  
I looked over at Catherine for confirmation. She nodded and dabbed at her eyes. "How much longer does she have to stay here?" Grissom asked.  
  
"Just a day or two longer," the doctor answered, "just a safety precaution."  
  
Catherine reached out and squeezed my hand. I looked into her eyes and knew that she wanted to talk about what happened; about Hank; about my real father. The doctor seemed to sense that we wanted a private moment. "I'm going to go take care of some other patients," he said. "I'll send a nurse to check on you in half an hour."  
  
"Thanks," I whispered.  
  
He left the hospital room, closing the door behind him. I turned my attention to Lindsay. "Hey," I whispered. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Are you kidding?" She asked, brushing her long blond hair out of her face. "My mom called me the second you went missing." She walked closer and sat down on the edge of the bed. She was careful to stay enough of a distance away to keep from causing me anymore pain. She leaned over and kissed my forehead. "I love you, Amy," she said, her voice breaking with emotion.  
  
"It's OK, Linds," I said quietly. "I'm OK."  
  
"Are you?" Catherine asked. She looked away from me. "I'm assuming you know the truth now. About your mother.and.Nick."  
  
I nodded. The pain from the revelation was still so fresh. It hurt to think about it. But there was no escaping the truth. It's part of who I am. "So Hank was my real father?"  
  
"No," Catherine said, firmly. "He was your biological father. But Nick was your real father."  
  
"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.  
  
"Let me explain it," Lindsay said, bringing my attention back to her. "My biological father, Eddie, was never a good father to me. He never treated me the way a real father should. The only time we ever got to spend any time together was when we went to visit one of his many girlfriends. I didn't realize it at the time, but he wasn't a good father to me. He wasn't a real father to me. But then Gil came along." She paused and looked at Grissom.  
  
"Gil wasn't my quote-unquote 'real' father, but he always acted like one anyway, even before he and my mom got married. And even though I don't call him my dad, to me, he is the real deal." She paused for a moment.  
  
I glanced over at Grissom, and, to my surprise, tears were filling his eyes and threatening to spill over. "You know that Garth Brooks song?" Catherine asked. "The one that goes 'Blood is thicker than water. But love is thicker than blood.'"  
  
As if realizing what her mother was getting at, Lindsay explained it to me. "It's about how blood is incredibly strong, but love is a force that's a million times stronger. It doesn't matter if you're related by blood to someone. As long as you love each other like a family should, then you're a family."  
  
Grissom cleared his throat, pulling my attention to him. "You're not related to any of us by blood, but you're like family to us. We love you like a family does, and that's really all that should matter."  
  
I drew in a deep, quivering breath. A steady stream of tears fell from my eyes. Catherine leaned forward and drew me into her arms. I ignored the pain that gripped me, holding on, instead to the love that was radiating from Catherine. Lindsay leaned forward to and joined the hug, and, before long, Grissom had joined too. We spent the next twenty minutes in a tangled, crying mass on a hospital bed in the middle of Las Vegas.  
  
Things were never the same for me after that. Although I had never come straight out and said it, I had been blaming myself for my parents' death. I thought that if they hadn't been out driving me to the party, then they never would have gotten into the accident. But after meeting Hank, and hearing the truth, I knew that it had nothing to do with me.  
  
And, even more valuable than that, I learned the truth about who I was. I learned about the greatest man who ever lived; a man who married the woman he loved and raised her daughter as his own, although I'm sure it must have pained him every time he looked at me. But he never once let me see that pain.  
  
Catherine and Lindsay were right. No matter what Hank said, Nick Stokes will always be my father. I will never think of him as anything else. I will always be Amy Stokes. Because it's true: love is thicker than blood.  
  
THE END 


End file.
